You Wear My Words, Mother

That has but sought Your feet—Blood that for age upon age,Life upon life,Has fallen upon the earth,Like every fallen corpse…Each drop echoesEvery final cry: "Where are You?"

I grew again and yet again,A thirst mightier than any seed,Thrusting me out of every clay prisonOnly to gaze upon a sky of yet clay.

This battle is not for blood,This sword smilesNot for an ounce of dirt,Nor for any forsaken innocence.This is a smile born of severance,This is a joy known only by catchingYour reflection as I staredInto eyes of pure pain.

These armies but walk into Your mouth,Their sounds die as they fall upon Your tongue,Their words consumed by Thee,Seeds taken by the tree, tasted fruit,Flowers cut and strung along Your thread,These jewels, silent and flecked with red.